


Pain and Concrete

by BookWerm



Series: Short Torchwood Stories [2]
Category: Torchwood
Genre: Episode: s03e02 Children of Earth - Day 2, Whump, idk what else to tag this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-18
Updated: 2020-05-18
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:27:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24242791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BookWerm/pseuds/BookWerm
Summary: What it felt like for Jack, coming back to life from being blown up and subsequently being "contained" in concrete.
Series: Short Torchwood Stories [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1749835
Comments: 3
Kudos: 16





	Pain and Concrete

Pain. Everything was pain. There wasn't any room for thought, everything pushed out by the great wall of black and red and screams.

His skin wasn't back yet.

He had come back to life _without his skin_.

This could very well be worse than any death before. At least then it only hurt this bad on the way out of life. This, this wasn't just agony, wasn't even hell on earth.

There weren't words.

And eventually, what could have been hours or even days later, it stopped.

Panting, catching his breath, and yelling at the camera occupied him for a time, but then the hatch opened.

As soon as the woman said those four words, "we can contain you", he froze, on the inside. It felt like his heart stopped, just for a moment.

NO. nonononononono

He had to get out of here , would do anything to get out of here, anything to not be buried alive again, only to die over and over again for hundreds of years.

No.

But he couldn't stop it, no matter how much he struggled. Cement got in his nose his mouth, his ears. He gasped for breath every chance he could get, but it wasn't enough. Within minutes it had sputtered and crawled its way all the way to covering his face. He had one last breath to take, and then it was gone.

He told himself not to breathe in, not to do it, and he tried, he really did. But you can only hold your breath for so long before survival instincts kick in, and eventually his did. Cold, gritty cement rushed into his lungs and he wanted cry. He gasped again and again, but there wasn't any air, not anywahere. He flailed and struggled to no avail, and finally breahted a last breath, lights flashing before his eyes.

When he woke up again, everything was black he couldn't move, couldn't open his eyes, couldn't breathe. Everything inside him hurt; his lungs, his heart. Orange and red and black flashed in front of his eyes.

He was dying. He was dead.

/

He took to counting. Not the number of deaths, those didn't end, just counting.

The highest he'd been able to get to before dying was two hundred and three, although who knew how long that was.

/

It hurt. Everything hurt. An endless cycle of death and almost life.

Then something changed, he was spinning, and falling, and maybe possibly, (free?)-

Dead again.


End file.
